Lisa had come because Rowan had called her.
That single fact made her heart flutter violently, skipping beats and soaring in ways she hadn't felt in years. In a room full of powerful men, expensive liquor, and reckless laughter, his call felt like proof—proof that she mattered, that she wasn't just a hidden mistress tucked away in the shadows.
To everyone else, it was just part of a game. A dare. A joke meant to liven the night.
To Lisa, it meant something entirely different.
It meant Rowan had wanted her here.
She had dreamed of this moment for so many years.
The day she could stand openly at Rowan Blackthorne's side. Not as a secret. Not as the woman hidden while he played husband elsewhere. But as the woman the world could see. His woman.
So when she pushed open the door and stepped inside, wearing the yellow dress she had agonized over for far too long, she held her chin high, chest lifted, letting herself believe this was the start of that new life.
